


Singing Vows

by TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan



Series: Blindsided [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blindness, Fights, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan/pseuds/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan
Summary: Patrick and Blind!Pete are trying to plan their wedding. Silliness and Fluff (and some drama) ensue.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Blindsided [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553179
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Singing Vows

Patrick's gentle fingers tugged at the lapels of Pete's suit jacket and brushed at the shoulders in a Very Professional Manner.

Then the touch was gone, and Patrick was humming approvingly.

“You look gorgeous,” he crooned, and Pete felt his heart swell up in his chest at the sound. He folded his hands in front of his waistline and felt, not for the first time, sorry he couldn't see himself. Especially now that he was in what he would be wearing to his fucking wedding. He'd never even been able to set seeing eyes on the face of the man he was marrying. How's that for love?

“If you've put me in fuchsia plaid, or something... well, I'd say I'll be upset, but it would probably not be the worst thing I've ever worn, to tell you the truth.” He struck a ridiculous pose, bending his knees and pointing finger guns with a crooked smile. This drew a breathy Muttley laugh from his fiance.

“Probably not,” Patrick retorted. “But I assure you, the colors are much more classy. Grey and electric blue.”

“I still say I should wear a gown. A big white number with a huge bell skirt that takes up the whole aisle!”

“Pete,” Patrick warned.

“Seriously. I would look damned hot in a dress. I still remember what I look like, you know.” His tone was joking, but there was definitely a thread of something more vulnerable underneath it.

“Pete, you would look hot in a burlap sack, but I really think this is the way to go.” Pete could hear him smirking.

“Are we really gonna match?” Pete asked, teasing. “You'd better not be messing with me.”

He gasped at the feel of a soft kiss on his cheek. “We are, Love. I promise.” Again with the heart tingling and swelling. Damn Patrick and his voice powers over him.

******

They were tasting wedding cakes. Pete was being difficult, and he knew it.

“Viff one'f goot,” Patrick mumbled around the sample he was chewing. “'Ere.”

Pete rolled his eyes crossed his arms. “It's vanilla with white frosting, isn't it?”

He heard Patrick swallow his bite and say, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ugh, couldn't we have something else? Like red velvet?” he pleaded.

He heard Patrick scoff. “Red velvet? Pete, we're not getting married in a... house of ill repute, or something.”

“Chocolate?”

A sigh. “Too informal, Pete. We're getting married, not celebrating a five-year-old's birthday.”

“'Trick! Come on! White on white is tired! Everyone does that! Can't we do something different Like Bleeding Armadillah Groomscake? We're both grooms!” Pete even stomped one foot and jutted his lower lip out. _Not celebrating like a five-year-old MY ASS_ , he thought.

“Babe, you can't even see the damned cake! Why can't you let me have this and stop acting like a child?” Patrick snapped.

Pete flinched. “That was kinda low,” he said, his voice cracking, as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop.

After a moment of huffing and puffing ineffectually on the sidewalk, he heard the door open again, and then there was a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Pete?” Patrick said meekly. “Look, I... I'm sorry. You're right. That was really mean of me. I know you always are gonna veer toward bucking tradition and doing things differently, but... I... I just... I...”

Pete turned around, arms still crossed and sullen look on his face. He heard a resigned sigh, then those hands were on his face, and vanilla-scented skin came close, followed by a vanilla-sugar-flavored kiss on Pete's pouty mouth.

“Baby,” Patrick pleaded, “we are about to have a pretty unconventional wedding as it is. Can we please try to keep the trappings a little bit traditional? Please?”

Pete sighed and melted into Patrick's touch. Still, he wasn't quite over it yet. “Why does tradition matter, anyway? Why do you care so much?” he whined.

“I don't know... I guess I just... I feel like this has got to be a lot for people anyway, namely some of my older relatives, I'm sure, and... I guess I want everyone to feel like they're at as much of a normal wedding as anyone else's.”

“Normal is overrated,” Pete pouted. “If you want normal, there's the door.” Pete waved his arm ineffectually. “Well, I'm sure there's one somewhere around here you could use.”

Patrick laughed and snaked his arms around Pete. “No, I definitely don't want too normal. You're right about that. I want you.” He took a deep breath as Pete relented and put his arms around Patrick's waist. “OK, well, let's come up with a compromise. Are you OK with vanilla cake if we do some bright, funky frosting?”

Pete shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but there was the beginning of a little smile. “OK, 'Trick.”

His face tingled as Patrick pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his mouth again. “OK, let's go pick something out we both like.” Patrick took Pete's hand and went back into the store with Pete in tow. Suddenly, Patrick paused and turned back to Pete before they got inside. “And Pete? I really am sorry. I should never have said something so mean. I just... I guess this is just a huge deal and my control-freak tendencies are getting the better of me, and... quite frankly, I want this more than anything, I want you more than anything, and I guess sometimes I get a little intimidated at the idea that you really want me back, and that this is even happening, and... I feel like, everything has to be just right, because it's you and it's us, and it's the most important thing I've ever done. Like if I make one wrong step, one false move, it's all gonna...  
disappear, or the bubble's gonna burst, or something.”

Pete half-smiled as he remembered having the same thought about Patrick right before he'd proposed.

“We,” Pete said quietly, but firmly.

“Huh?” Patrick said.

“This is the most important thing _we've_ ever done. _We_. We're supposed to do this together. You don't have to take charge and be alpha dog all the time. I know the fact that I have an... impairment, I guess, makes everyone really... protective and cautious with me, but I promise, we can do this together. We can pretty much do anything together.”

Patrick took Pete's face in both hands again and kissed his mouth sweetly, passionately, then gathered him in a fierce hug. “God, I love you so much, Pete.”

Pete clutched back and said, “I know.” After a pause and a shared laugh, he said, “I love you, too.”

******

“Pete, how do you want the invitations to go? My name first, or yours?”

Pete tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie as they sat on the couch together, Patrick perusing invitation designs. “Um, I think, since you proposed to me, that means my name goes first. Usually, the bride's parents are announcing the pawning off of their daughter to the groom like property, so I think in this case, you're taking me off my parents' hands, like an ornery goat, or something.”

Patrick chuckled and patted Pete's knee. “I think yours looks nicer first, anyway. It looks like a royal wedding with these names: Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III and Patrick Martin Vaughn Stumph. And by the way, you're far more ornery than any goat, babe.”

“Wait a minute, are we actually agreeing on something?” Pete said cautiously, a sly smile on his face.

“That you're ornery? I think we are,” Patrick quipped.

Pete nudged Patrick's shoulder. “Dude,” he said with a laugh, “can't you just let me enjoy a rare moment of pre-marital accord?”

Patrick leaned over and nuzzled Pete's ear. “Hmm, did someone say 'pre-marital'?” he murmured.

Like magic, Pete's pulse accelerated and he felt blood rushing rapidly downward. “Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure someone did. That rapscallion,” he panted.

Patrick kissed Pete's mouth, then took his hands and pulled him off the couch. “Come on, rapscallion. You're getting spanked.”

Pete splayed a hand on his chest and fixed on his best mock-shocked expression. “What? You would defile me before our wedding night?”

Patrick's arms snapped around Pete and pulled him forcefully against Patrick's body, whip-fast and so tightly Pete could barely move. “Absolutely,” he growled, peppering kisses down Pete's jaw.

“Well, since you put it like that,” Pete said, his voice cracking with desire, “lead the way, Baby.”

******

Patrick sat upright on the couch, while Pete sprawled the rest of the length with his feet on Patrick's lap. A seating chart was placed precariously over the tops of Pete's shins, and Pete drummed restlessly on his thighs while he listened to the quiet shush of paper against paper as Patrick moved fake little “people” around, muttering about each move, more to himself than to Pete.

“Uncle Jim needs to be away from the bar... but he can't be near my cousin Carol... and Carol can't be near Aunt Maggie or there will be bloodshed... one more question about why Carol isn't married yet, and she'll snap... Grandma Stumph needs to be as close to the bathrooms as possible... Ugh, where do I put Kevin and Megan? I can't put them with my dad and his wife, but if I put them with Mom, then it looks too one-sided...”

Pete sighed heavily and said, “Don't put them with either. Put them together at their own table, away from both your parents, so it won't look like you're siding with either of them.”

“Won't that be weird?” Patrick said, and Pete could almost hear his fiance's tongue sticking out in concentration.

Pete laughed. “Dude, as you've pointed out, you're about to have a gay wedding with your blind bassist. And you think not seating your nuclear family all at one table is the weird part?”

Patrick gave one of his trademark through-the-nose affectionate little chuckles. “I suppose you're right. I can put them between Mom and Dad. That will be... oddly symbolic.” He patted Pete's knee. “Anyone I need to pay special attention to in your family, as far as seating?”

“Nah,” Pete said dismissively. “The only black sheep in my family is me, and well, the only one at my table is you, which is pretty much exactly the way I want it.”

“That must be nice,” Patrick muttered.

Pete snorted. “Yeah, great, having everyone treating me like a freak or a pariah. It's awesome.”

Patrick placed a firm hand on Pete's thigh. “Relax. I meant it must be nice not really worrying about the rest of your family like I do.” He sighed and decided to change the subject. “Anyway, Pete, are you sure you don't want a wedding party of any kind? Groomspeople?” Patrick asked.

Pete shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, you're already the best man in my life, so who else do I need standing with me, really?”

“How about, maybe, our siblings and our bandmates?” Patrick said sarcastically. “I mean, I can't speak for your brother and sister, but I know mine will be miffed, and so would Joe and Andy. You know it.”

Pete gave another put-upon sigh. “I guess. Yeah, let's just have them all in.” His heart really wasn't in this task. His mind felt like it was somewhere else.

“OK, obviously my siblings with me, yours with you, how about Joe on my side and Andy on yours?”

Pete blinked rapidly. “That's fine, I guess.” He felt his heart rate pick up, felt trapped under the seating chart all of a sudden. Heard the buzzing in his head. Then he knew where his mind was. The place where his words lived.

_Singing vows before we exchange smoke rings_

“'Trick...” Pete gasped. “'Trick...”

_Please let me in_

“Hmmm?” Patrick replied, lost in the task at hand. Pete simultaneously loved and hated how absorbed in a task he could get. Right now, he hated it. Needed his attention.

_Benzedrine_   
_Give me a pen_   
_Permanent jet lag_   
_Give me a pen_   
_Don't let the doctor in_   
_Give me a pen_   
_Give me a pen_

“Patrick!” he said. “I need to get up. NOW.”

_GIVE ME A PEN_

Pete felt Patrick tense up underneath him and grab the chart at the last second as Pete kicked his legs up and leapt off the couch. Pete still knocked into it on the way by, sending it falling to the floor. He ran off to the bedroom and his computer, calling apologies over his shoulder as he heard Patrick grumbling and picking up the loose sheaves of paper representing their nearest and dearest.

Pete slammed the door and scrambled for his laptop, opening his “Stuff” document and immediately babbling into the headset as though his life depended on it. Which, right now, it kinda did.

_GIVE ME A PEN_

Sometimes he kinda hated not being able to write things down with pen and paper the way he used to. Now was one of those times. He'd had to disrupt everything to come running in here and get his words out of him, record them somewhere... somewhere else, where it wasn't threatening to slice him down the middle and rip his bones out like a fish. He was supposed to be helping Patrick with the wedding, being part of the big "WE" he'd been on about at the bakery, even if he was just offering moral support. And times like this, he couldn't even do that.

_Have you ever wanted to disappear?_

Yeah, sometimes he kinda did.

Patrick gently opened and closed the bedroom door as Pete lay on the bed in the fetal position, his laptop behind his feet.

“Pete?” he said gently, and sat on the bed. Suddenly, there was a gentle hand on Pete's hip. “Baby, you OK?”

Pete nodded. And he was, actually. Getting the words out, elsewhere, always made him feel strangely renewed, clean. “Yeah,” he said as he sat up. “I'm better. Sorry about the seating chart. I just... you know...” he waved his hand in the general direction of his head.

“I know,” Patrick said, putting a hand on Pete's temple. “You and your incredible Wonderland inside there.”

Pete chuckled softly. “Yeah, Wonderland. With just as many Mome Wraths and Mad Hatters.”

Patrick gathered Pete onto his lap, pressed his nose into Pete's hair, and breathed deeply. “And I get to live there with you for the rest of my life.”

Pete closed his eyes, letting that familiar vanilla scent wrap around him as Patrick hummed softly into the top of his head. He felt small, in a way, with Patrick cradling him like a child, but in a good way. A safe way.

“Still time to back out, y'know,” he half-joked.

Patrick scoffed. “Me? What about you, Pete? You don't have to marry a short, balding, Type-A lunatic like me when there is no shortage of gorgeous people panting to be with you.”

“Stop it,” Pete said. “No one will ever be as beautiful to me as you are. Even when you're being an alpha-dog control freak jerk, I still love you.”

“And I love you even when you're being melodramatic and stubborn, or different and shocking just for the sake of it.” Patrick murmured softly. “In fact, I love you because of those things, because they're everything I'm not. You're still the bravest person I know, Pete.”

Pete felt tears welling up and he buried his face in Patrick's t-shirt. “I still wanna marry you, times a million.”

Patrick hugged Pete tighter and said, “I still wanna marry you, too, Pete. Honest and for true.”


End file.
